Элейн Каннингем - Elfshadow

They passed a string of warehouses, then a small trade district where tidy shops crowded companionably together on either side of the street. Dwellings had been built over most of these shops, and they jutted out into the narrow way so far that the occupants on either side of the street could lean out of their windows and shake hands if they were so inclined. The owners were obviously poor, but hardworking; the humble buildings were without exception meticulously kept. The streets were swept clean, and even in late autumn window boxes boasted gardens of kitchen herbs. A few stubborn, fragrant plants scented the falling rain.

Danilo led the way up a small hill onto a road appropriately named the Rising Way. Before them lay a sprawling building, framed with ancient timber and finished with wattle and daub. Long windows glowed with cheery light, and at them hung purple and white curtains embroidered with some guild’s mark. A huge carved sign bearing the same mark hung over the front door and proclaimed the establishment to be the House of Good Spirits.

“Let’s see to the horses,” Danilo shouted about the rising wind. Arilyn gave him a curt nod and followed him around a series of connected buildings set on a street shaped like a horseshoe. They first passed a large wooden structure whose yeasty smell suggested a small brewery. From the next building, a stone warehouse, wafted the vanilla-and-butter scent of white wine aging in fine oaken barrels. A larger building next door was apparently dedicated to the storage of zzar, the fortified wine for which Waterdeep was famed. Arilyn wrinkled her nose in distaste; nothing but that fiery orange liquid could have that distinctive almond scent. Like many elves, she heartily disdained the vulgar beverage, but zzar was considered the quintessential drink of Waterdhavian society. There was a statement there, Arilyn thought.

Finally they rounded the curved street and came to the last buildings, the stables. Arilyn was pleased to note that the stables appeared warm and clean; the horses had endured a long and difficult journey and they deserved a good rest.

The young stableboy who ran out to take their reins recognized Danilo. He greeted the nobleman with great deference and solemn promises of special treatment for the horses. By the gods, Arilyn thought with irritation, is there any tavern or official in this city who isn’t acquainted with Danilo Thann?

After leaving the horses and a generous number of coins with the grinning stableboy, Danilo grabbed Arilyn’s hand and sprinted across the small courtyard that lay between the stables and the inn’s back door, dragging her behind him. They burst into a small entrance hall, and Arilyn jerked her hand from the dandy’s grasp. Not seeming to notice anything unusual about her mood, Danilo removed his rain-drenched cape and hung it on a hook. With a gallant flourish, he helped Arilyn off with her cloak and hung it beside his.

“Nice and warm in here,” he noted. He added his broad-brimmed hat to the pegs, then smoothed his hair and alternately chafed and blew on his hands as he waited patiently for Arilyn to ready herself.

Even without the benefit of a mirror, Arilyn knew that her face was literally blue with cold. She slicked her wet black curls behind her ears and tied a blue scarf over her hair so that she would not look quite so bedraggled. Danilo pursed his lips but judiciously avoided comment. When she was ready, he placed a hand at the small of her back and ushered her through another door into the tavern.

“It’s not the Jade Jug,” Danilo apologized, naming Waterdeep’s plushest inn, “but it’s habitable, and—most important—it’s the headquarters for the Vintners, Brewers, and Distillers Guild. I’ve been here many times. It has no ambiance or style, but it boasts the best selection of spirits in all of Waterdeep.”

Arilyn bristled at Danilo’s evaluation of the inn’s merits. Perhaps the House of Good Spirits was not up to the pampered nobleman’s standards, but after many days of hard travel, she found it an inviting haven. The tavern room was warm and dimly lit, with a low ceiling and scattered small nooks that created a cozy feeling. The air was redolent of roasting meat, pleasantly bitter ales, and the pitchy scent of the northern pine logs that crackled in a huge open fireplace. Whatever the inn’s supposed limitations, it certainly did a brisk trade. Cheery barmaids and stout young men wielded large trays of drinks and simple, well-prepared food.

“I’ve seen worse,” Arilyn responded curtly.

Danilo recoiled in mock surprise. “Praise Lady Midnight! It’s a miracle! She speaks!”

Arilyn cast Danilo a withering glance and swept past him into the tavern. She’d tried unsuccessfully to ignore the fop for almost two tendays, speaking no more than necessary. Yet Danilo did not seem the least insulted by her silences, and he continued to chat and tease as if they had been friends from the cradle.

“If you’ll find a good table, I’ll get us some rooms,” offered Danilo, trailing along behind her.

Arilyn spun around to face him. “This is Waterdeep. We part company here, tonight. Your most pressing goal may be getting drunk, but I’m here to search for an assassin, remember?” she said in a low voice.

Unperturbed, Danilo gave her his most winning smile. “Do be reasonable, my dear. Just because we’ve arrived in Waterdeep, I see no cause to pretend we don’t know each other. In fact, since this is a rather small inn, such pretense might prove difficult. Look at this place.”

He gestured around the tavern room. It was full nearly to capacity, a mixed clientele made up of hardworking Waterdhavian craftspeople with a scattering of wealthy merchants and nobles—all dedicated drinkers who knew the inn’s merits. The exotic clothing and road-weary appearance of many of the guests marked them as travelers in for the festival. Conversation was low and leisurely, and the patrons savored their food and drink with an air of contentment. Judging from their mug-littered tables and blurred smiles, many of the patrons appeared to have hunkered down for a long evening of serious imbibing. Few empty seats remained in the house.

“You see?” Danilo concluded. “You’re stuck with me for one more evening. Dinner hour is nearly past, and it would be foolish for one of us to go into that storm to seek another inn, just to make a point. Truth be told, I doubt there are many rooms left in the whole of Waterdeep. Since I’m a regular and, if I may say so, a valued customer here, we’ll be well taken care of.”

Seeing her hesitation, he pressed on. “Come, now. We’re both cold and wet and in need of a good night’s sleep, and I for one would like to eat something for which we did not have to hunt.”

He has a point there, Arilyn admitted silently. “All right,” she conceded rather ungraciously.

“It’s decided.” Danilo’s attention drifted off to a point past Arilyn’s shoulder. “Ah! There’s the innkeeper. What ho! Simon!” he called as he headed off toward a pudgy, apron-draped man.

Will I never be rid of the fool? Arilyn stalked off toward the fireplace in search of an empty seat. A number of small tables were scattered there in the shadows, drawing her with their isolation. Perhaps one of the nooks would be unoccupied.

“Amnestria! Quefirre soora kan izzt ?”

The melodious voiced stopped Arilyn in midstride, and all thoughts of weariness and hunger were washed away on a flood of memories. When was the last time she had heard that language?

She turned to find herself face to face with a tall, silver-haired moon elf. Dressed in dignified black, the elf had the graceful carriage—and the well-kept weapons—that marked him as an experienced fighter. He spoke the formal language of the moon elven court, a language that Arilyn had never quite mastered. With a pang the half-elf recalled herself as a restless child squirming at her mother’s side, impatient with Z’beryl’s efforts to school her in anything other than swordplay.